


In The Corner Of This Time

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: After being murdered by Varg, Øystein is granted a second chance and sent back in time to prevent Per's suicide and the terrible events that follow.
Relationships: Euronymous | Øystein Aarseth/Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

_Pain......_

_Screaming....._

Øystein could feel himself fading, and black spots danced in his hazy vision, making it hard to tell what was there and what was not. He grasped at the floor of the stairwell, desperate to move, but he couldn't feel his legs. Blood bubbled through his mouth, and Øystein coughed weakly, knowing that he was dying, but not willing to go quite yet. 

All he had to do was move, but there was too much pain, and Øystein heard himself moan pitifully, feeling the air shift around him as Varg approached, his boots clanking on the metal staircase. 

"Look at you." Varg said in a tone of fake pity, crouching down onto his knees, undoubtedly trying to get a better look at what he'd done. "The great, true leader of Norway's most popular black metal group, reduced to _this."_ He sounded disgusted. 

Øystein gagged on his own blood. "Don't - no..." He felt like a fish, grabbed from the water and left to dry on the pier. He grabbed fruitlessly onto the floor, trying to drag himself away, but all he could do was try to look and see Varg's face, his eyes rolling wildly in their sockets until they managed to find the man they were searching for. 

"Goodbye, Øystein." Varg said softly, and then he raised the knife, shining with blood, and plunged it into Øystein's skull. 

Darkness followed. 

And Øystein felt like he was drifting in a black sea, calm, in control, his arms spread as he glided, feeling the pain fade away and be replaced by a sweet nothingness. He took a deep breathe, and was glad to not feel the pain of his wounds anymore. 

Was this what it was like to die? Øystein thought so, anyways. 

There were voices, distant and quiet, but the words couldn't be made out. They sounded familiar, and Øystein tried to connect voices to faces - his mom, his dad, his sister. 

" _Fix it, Øystein."_ A female voice whispered. 

" _This is your last chance."_ A male voice said. 

" _Save him, and save yourself."_ A child giggled. 

Øystein opened his eyes, and found that, far from being in whatever afterlife his mother had told him about, he was on a bed, in a room with sunlight seeping through and painting the dark wood a bright orange. 

The bedroom looked familiar, with posters of heavy metal bands lining the walls, and Øystein thought, ' _Whoever's room this is, he has good taste.'_

Of course, several of those bands had turned into cowards to appease the parents, but Øystein didn't care, because now he was wondering why he was back in his old bedroom - not in his parent's house, but, rather, at the old cabin, the one that'd been abandoned and left to rot. 

"What the - " Øystein mumbled, his tongue thick and heavy as the words slipped into the air and found life. He looked down at the bed, at the blankets that he was holding within clenched fingers, and it was his old one, the bed with springs poking into his back and a strong smell of dust. 

Øystein paused, took a deep breathe, and tried to reassure himself that there were countless theories about how death went, one of which involved people reliving their pasts. But Øystein didn't feel dead. No, he felt alive, with a beating heart and lungs that urged for air with every inhale and exhale for breathe. He didn't feel any different than he did when he was alive, and that seemed to be more concerning than anything else. 

The trees that hovered outside of Øystein's window shivered in the wind, their branches brushing up against the window ominously. Øystein felt his head, and couldn't find any of his wounds, nor on his neck or chest or stomach. His skin was unmarked, pale and smooth.

' _You're dead. This is just the process of dying.'_ Øystein thought, but it didn't feel right, not really. ' _You've never died before. How would you know?'_

Truth be told, Øystein didn't know, but for some reason, he was certain that this wasn't the case of a simple death. 

Footsteps sounded right outside the door, and Øystein tensed, mouth half-open in a warning yell, but then the door opened without warning, as if the person behind it just couldn't wait a moment later. Jan was standing there, dressed in a torn shirt and cargo pants, dark hair damp from a shower. "Oh, you're awake." Jan said, sounding surprised by the revelation. 

"Um." Øystein swallowed thickly. "Yeah." His voice was hoarse. 

Jan frowned. "Are you alright? You look very pale, and you're sweating." He approached, stepping into the room with tentative feet. 

They hadn't seen each other in weeks - no, months. 

"No!" Øystein yelled out without meaning to, immediately regretting it when Jan backed away, startled, his concern turning into worry. He cursed himself for the panic that was coursing through his veins. "I mean, I just had a nightmare." 

"A nightmare?" Jan repeated, sounding skeptical. "Like, zombies were chasing you or some shit?" He walked backwards into the threshold of the door. 

Øystein allowed himself to take a deep breathe of relief. "You could say that." He said quietly, releasing his death-grip on the blanket, which was beginning to make his fingers hurt. He looked at Jan, at the darkness of his hair and the furrow of his eyebrows, and thought about how this didn't feel like any sort of death. 

Instead, it felt like a life renewed. 

"What year is it?" Øystein asked, feeling his heart begin to race again just as it began to calm down. 

Jan refused to look Øystein in the eye, probably because he was so uncomfortable. "Why?" 

"Just tell me!" Øystein was beginning to feel desperate, frightened, cold, fearing whatever might come next. He didn't feel like he was in control, like the world was spinning out of its axle, and tilting too far to the left when it needed to go right. 

"Okay, okay." Jan soothed, putting his arms up in defense. "It's April, ninteen-ninety-one." 

Øystein's heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach, seemingly cementing his fear and utter terror. He hadn't felt like this since he was a child, but now, it was coming back in full force, rendering him powerless against the events that were taking place. "Are you sure?" He asked. "And what day?" 

"Um, it's the first." Jan said. "Listen, are you sure that you're okay? Because you're acting really weirdly." He looked deeply uncomfortable, and was shifting around on his feet. 

"I'm okay." Øystein muttered, even though he was the furthest from 'okay' he'd ever been. Suddenly, he was reminded of those voices that he'd heard, and the words, so mysterious, yet so simple. 

"Right." Jan was now in the hallway, clearly too freaked out for anything more. "I'm gonna go make breakfast. Come down when you're ready, okay?" He paused, almost as if in thought. "And ask Pelle to come down too. He needs to eat." 

Øystein felt like the world was moving in slow motion with the simple mention of that name, and the implications of such a name. He thought about a cold funeral under the cover of rain, and the bloodied mess that'd been left behind in that bedroom that nobody could enter afterwards because there were too many memories. He thought about pale blue eyes and the constant stench of death. He thought about a man, little more than a boy, slitting his wrists and throat before blowing his brains out. 

This wasn't death - this was a reincarnation. 

The room suddenly felt very, very cold, and Øystein had to remind himself to breathe, too shocked from the words for anything else. "Alright." He whispered, and Jan nodded, walking back down the stairs quickly, probably eager to escape. 

Slowly, Øystein stood up, and he walked out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, where he looked into the cracked mirror and stared at his reflection, wondering why, even in death, things couldn't be simple. Just twenty minutes ago, he had been dead, but now, he was alive again, and, by all means, had somehow managed to go back into the past. 

Yet again, those words repeated their meanings - ' _Save him, and save yourself.'_

Øystein turned on the water, cupping his hands together underneath the bitterly cold flow and splashing it over his face, unsure of how to feel, but knowing that this was his chance. Varg hadn't joined the band yet, after all, and Pelle hadn't committed suicide. Øystein could save all of their lives, but he just needed to figure out how. 

' _Varg, that prick.'_ Øystein felt white-hot anger coarse through his body at the thought of that bastard. He'd given Varg a chance, and he'd went and killed him! 

But this was Øystein's second chance to make sure that Varg never so much as stepped foot into the cabin, and to make sure that Pelle lived to see another day.

Øystein wasn't surprised to feel a wave of sadness and grief hit him at the remembrance of Pelle, feeling so guilty for his role in the other man's suicide, but knowing that he could make it right again. Øystein took a deep breathe, resolving himself to this task, knowing that he could do it, but just not sure of the specifics.

It was April 1st, and Pelle had committed suicide on the 8th. 

That was far too soon, but Øystein was sure that he could do it. 

He was Euronymous, after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

It took Øystein a few minutes to compose himself, but he knew that, if he were to maintain his previous dignity, then had had to go downstairs and face people whom he hadn't seen in years. 

In all truth, Øystein was trying his best not to think too hard about all the technicalities of what was happening because he might have actually driven himself crazy if he dared thought about it too much.

He didn't want to think about how he seemed to have been revived, and sent back in time. He didn't want to think about how the knife had pointed into his body so easily, and how Varg had looked so pleased when it'd happened, like he'd been wanting to do it for so long. 

Pelle's bedroom door was open, and the room itself was empty, with the blankets on the bed having been tossed aside. There was a mess of papers on his desk, and a few books had been dumped onto the ground with little care. The sight was somewhat saddening, seeing a room that was long since abandoned and left to rot in the cold wintry wasteland. 

Øystein walked down the stairs, listening to them creak noisily underneath his feet, smelling the familiar oakwood and dust. As always, it was snowing outside, and fat clumps of snow were falling from the cloudy sky, giving it an imperfect look of winter. 

It was clear that the cabin had recently been given its bi-monthly dusting, but the distinct smell was still there, lingering. The television was on, and turned to one of Jan's stupid shows that never failed to drive Øystein crazy, but now the sight was vaguely comforting. 

"I made breakfast." Jan said, spreading his arms around the kitchen, awkwardly smiling. "Not my best work." He said sheepishly. 

There were eggs, slowly burning in one of the pans, and blackened bacon laying on a plate with a paper towel covering it. Øystein wasn't sure how to react at first, because he'd spent the last few years making food for himself, alone, a pass time he usually enjoyed but not when it was a choice. "Thanks." He said after a moment of silence. 

Jan stood off the side, leaning against the countertop. "Pelle is out in the woods again." He said, and it was clear from his tone that the fact troubled him deeply. 

It troubled Øystein, too, for more reasons than one, and he glanced out the window. "How long has he been out there?" He asked. 

"I don't know. I thought he was in his room, but evidently not." Jan sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I know that you really don't care, 'Stein, but there's something about how he's been acting - I'm so worried about Pelle." 

Øystein froze, like a deer in headlights. "What?" He said, turning around slowly, unsure of whether or not he'd heard it properly. "What do you mean, 'I don't care'?"

Immediately, Jan seemed to realize that he'd said something wrong, because he visibly backed away, looking rather nervous. "Well, I just meant it that you haven't really been nice to him lately." He said, backing into the dining table and sitting down, folding his hands diplomatically. "You know how Pelle is. He pretends that he doesn't give a fuck about what you think about him, but he really does, and he's sensitive." 

Whether or not he would admit it, Øystein knew that Jan was right. 

In the last weeks of Pelle's life, there had been a lot of discord within the group, especially with Jørn's absences due to the incoming birth of his child. Most of the time, Øystein wasn't even mad at Pelle, because he was easy to yell at. Pelle fought back, but only to a certain extent, and, sometimes, he would just sit and take whatever abuse that would be hurled at him. 

Øystein felt his guilt, if possible, worsen. "I just haven't been in a good mood lately." He said. 

"That's understandable." Jan said. "Just - take it easy on him, alright?" 

More than anything, Øystein wished desperately that he'd stopped and thought about how he was acting before, but now, it was better than never. He nodded and put some food on his plate before sitting back down, stabbing at his eggs with a fork. "Has he been acting weird?" Øystein asked quietly, taking a bite and grimacing at the rubbery texture. 

Jan shrugged. "Weirder than usual, anyways. Even more quiet and withdrawn, if you can believe." He picked at his nails, glancing out the window at the mountains in the distance, and then he tensed, half-standing before sitting down again. "He's coming back." He mumbled. 

"What? Oh." Øystein felt his heart begin to race at the thought of having to speak and see and hear Pelle for the first time in what felt like forever. One part of him was immensely excited for the idea, but the other was nervous, filled with anxiety over the prospect. 

The door opened, and a gust of cold air appeared, making Øystein shiver and clamp his teeth together to prevent them from chattering. Then the door closed, locked, and a harsh breathing noise could be heard. 

"Um, Pelle? Are you alright?" Jan shouted, twisting his head over his shoulder so that he could see the blonde if he were to appear in their line of sight. 

Øystein didn't know what he expected, he really didn't, but when Pelle appeared, it was like looking at a skeleton. Finally, after years and years, Pelle had finally managed to do what he'd been aiming for since he had first gotten into music as a whole. His face was hollow, like somebody had taken a tree and chiseled a fave out of it, not giving it any fat or meat, just pure bone. 

The same could be said for Pelle's body, which was thin as a twig, all bones that jut out uncomfortably from his skin, and his jacket hung off of his body like a giant tarp that's been tossed over his shoulders without warning. 

' _How did I not realize how far he'd fallen?'_ Øystein thought, feeling an unfamiliar rush of terrible guilt, wanting to shut his eyes but not daring to, because he wasn't weak, and he wasn't about to start being weak. 

But, perhaps, the worst thing about it all was that Jan didn't seem particularly fazed by the sight. In fact, he looked used to it, like there was nothing new that could be deciphered through. "Are you hungry?" Jan asked. 

Pelle shook his head, and for a single, fragile minute, his and Øystein's eyes met. 

The last time they'd been near each other, Pelle was laying on a mattress with his wrists and throat slit, a single gunshot having destroyed his skull and that beautiful face. But now, he was alive, and his pale blue eyes looked so much like shards of broken glass. 

Øystein forced himself to say something. "Hey, Pelle." He said. 

There was no response, not that Øystein particularly expected one. Pelle only gazed at him through his stringy blonde hair, looking so sad, so empty, and then he was walking away, up the stairs, presumably back up the safety of a room where, if things didn't go the right way, he would be killing himself in. 

Jan sighed. "And that's why I'm worried about him." 


	3. Chapter 3

Øystein hadn't been back to the cabin since a week after Per had committed suicide, a fact that was becoming glaringly obvious as he walked through its dusty walls and gazed at times that'd long passed. 

The cabin had been left to rot, ghosts whispering pleas with no end in sight, and nobody had even been over to officially clean up the scene of the suicide. Jan and Jørn and Øystein had gathered together to clean it up, to scrub the blood from the wall and scrub brain matter from the floorboards, but they weren't professionals, and it'd been a mediocre job at best. 

Now, Øystein could only imagine what it must've looked like, smelt like, if this whole situation hadn't happened. Truth be told, Øystein didn't truly believe in magic - not in the way that Per did, anyways. He didn't believe in time travel or reality bending, but in what way could he explain this? 

It could all be explained away by being a simple hallucination of a dying brain, but that didn't seem right. It all felt too _real._ The wood underneath Øystein's feet felt real, and the sharp smell of pain felt real. Every breathe felt real and true, like nothing bad had ever happened to rid Øystein of them. 

A small part of Øystein didn't want to believe, but what else could he do? Be miserable? Linger around until the darkness overwhelms him again? Wait until whatever afterlife comes to claim him? 

The cabin felt darker than usual, perhaps sensing what would come in the approaching days. There seemed to be something forbidden about the twisting corners, about the way that shadows seemed to dance on the walls. Øystein walked into the living room, and he sat down on the old couch with the springs that poked unpleasantly into his skin. 

Outside, heavy clumps of snow fell onto the ground and the withering trees that lined one side of the property. The sky was a mix of light blue and black, seeming to cloak the entire world with its colors. 

Øystein stood up again, and he walked upstairs, passed Per's room (shut and locked, typical) and Jan's room (wide open) before walking into his own. Jørn's room had been vacant ever since he had moved out to be with his pregnant girlfriend, and the thought made Øystein bite his tongue, wondering if he'd been unreasonable, if Jørn had been right to distance himself. 

The thought of being wrong was unfamiliar, and weighed heavily on Øystein's shoulders as he shut his door and walked into the bathroom. The mirror reflected a man who had just been through Hell and back - pale skin, bags under his eyes. 

Slowly, as if treasuring the moment, Øystein dragged his hands over his face, head, neck, stomach, touched his back. The skin was whole and unbroken, like there had never been a knife piercing it. Øystein wondered if he was going crazy, too, just like Per. 

_'Crazy like Per....hallucinations....death....fucking bonkers.'_ Øystein squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and then pulled his shirt up and over his head to see his torso fully, but there was only a small scar from a childhood incident, and nothing else to be seen. 

A weak, slightly hysterical laugh bubbled from Øystein's lips, and he leaned foward, laughing until it hurt, sounding like a fucking madman, but unable to help it because the whole situation was so twisted that it was starting to make sense in a weird, indirect sort of way. 

He laughed until his throat ached and all he could do was rasp weakly, like a dying man...gasping for air. 

Øystein stopped laughing. 

And then he started to cry. 

Hot tears burned their way down Øystein's face and he roughly wiped them away, scowling at how weak it was, hating how weak he was. The whole thing was just so crazy, and nothing was normal anymore. 

So, what if Per never committed suicide? What would happen then? 

"Oh, fuck me." Øystein moaned, turning the water on and splashing some on his face, taking a deep breathe to clear some of the pressure off of his chest. It was a terrible place to be in, but Øystein knew that there were so many things that he needed to do. 

First things first, and everything else could come afterwards. 

Øystein opened his closet door, reached in, and grabbed the shotgun that he kept in there, just in case somebody broke in one of these days. He opened his bedroom door and left his room, the shotgun in hand, walking down the stairs quickly, not wanting to waste any time. 

Just getting rid of the shotgun would no good, but it would make things a little easier, anyways. 

"Hey." Jan said as he pulled on his coat, blowing strands of hair away from his face. "What are you doing with that? Going hunting?" He tilted his head like a curious puppy, all big, dark eyes and pursed lips. 

"No." Øystein held the shotgun out. "I need you to take this, give it to Jørn." 

"Why?" Jan was confused - his face was doing that thing where his eyebrows furrowed and he looked like the world was just some big place that he didn't or couldn't understand. 

"Because." Øystein forced himself to snarl, his lips twisting up and away from his teeth, like a wild animal that was preparing to pounce. "Don't question me, just do it!" He yelled. 

Jan looked startled, but he took the shotgun, anyways. "Alright." He said in a quiet tone. "I have to run to the store, so I'll just make a quick stop. I'll see you later." 

Before anything else could be said, Jan opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind him, as if in silent protest to his treatment. Øystein wished that he hadn't yelled, but that damned man needed to listen, now more than ever, because two lives were hanging in the balance. 

A moment later, the van came rumbling to life, and although the snow was piled up in front of the wheels, Jan somehow managed to pull off of the property and onto the road. 

Øystein watched as he left, standing by the window until the disappeared from view, and then he turned around, walking out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, until he reached the landing and walked toward Per's door, knocking on it quickly, and hoping that maybe he didn't know that Jan had left, and would open the door for him, maybe. 

There came no answer. 

"Pelle. I have a key for the door, so open it." Øystein said, looking down at the small crack at the bottom of the door, hoping to see Per's shadow, but there was nothing, and his heart started to beat a little faster. "Now." He added in a firmer voice, hoping that it was be prompting, if only somewhat. 

And, once again, nobody came to answer the door. 


	4. Chapter 4

When there came no answer, which was both predictable and rather irritating, there was nothing else for Øystein to do but go back into his room and think about what once was am actuality instead of a probability. 

In all likelihood, Jan wouldn't be back for awhile yet, and Jørn rarely visited because of his pregnant girlfriend. He lived closer to the city, and would seldom come to the cabin for any reason other than to see Per. But even those visits had been coming less and less, which had driven Øysein to irritation previously, but now he just felt sadness, cold and dark, from the events that had taken place and he now had to fix. 

Øystein sighed as he looked around his room, a place he hadn't been in for two years at the very least. It was an almost childlike place, with posters of various bands and torn magazine covers. He was almost fascinated by it, how quickly things had changed, so quick that it was almost fantastic. 

In the time that he'd been in, the _proper_ time, Øystein imagined that his bedroom was a very different place. It would be crumbled and ruined, just like the rest of the cabin, left to nature to overtake. Øystein wondered if Jan or Jørn had returned to the cabin and looked at it, remembered the time that had long since gone by. 

It was almost sad, in a strange way, to think about. 

Things had changed so quickly - one minutes, Per had been alive, and the next, he was gone like the wind that had taken him in. One minute, Øystein had been alive, too, but then Varg, that bastard, had taken it. 

But then, things had changed so suddenly, and Øystein seemed to have gone back in time. He was still partially convinced that it was just some dream, but that idea was slowly fading, and Øystein wondered if it was real, if this was real. 

"That's crazy." Øystein whispered, leaving his room and walking back downstairs and into the kitchen before beginning to root through the cupboards. They were relatively bare, save for a container of crackers and a few cans of food. Øystein felt a faint smile tug at his face at the remembrance of how terrible they were at actually getting food. ' _I've gone soft.'_ He thought, torn between amusement and annoyance. 

Øystein grabbed the crackers, wondering how he was going to succeed at preventing what seemed like an inevitable situation. Per had said that he had first written the note seventeen years ago, hadn't he? Øystein put a cracker in his mouth and chewed on it. 

The idea made Øystein wince as he thought about how he was going to have to convince somebody on the brink of suicide, to live. 

' _For what reason? To continue living a life that he doesn't want to live?'_ Øystein shook his head and looked down at his hands, wondering what happened if he didn't succeed in his task. Would he be transported back to the place he had been, getting stabbed by Varg? Would this all just be in vain? The idea was terrifying and Øystein didn't want to entertain it, but he couldn't help it in the mere slightest. 

Per wouldn't even open the door for him, what would it take for him to agree to stay alive? Øystein didn't know, he didn't even know the beginnings of what he was supposed to do. His life has been turned upside-down in the matter of just a few hours, and now he was back in time. 

The crackers were dry, and like sandpaper in Øystein's mouth. He turned around and headed to the refrigerator. There was a bottle of water on the last shelf, tucked behind a package of meat, and Øystein grabbed it, shutting the door and turning around to head onto the deck to think. 

A small, strangled gasp startled out of Øystein's mouth as he flinched backwards from the sudden appearance of Per, who was standing there like someone straight from a horror movie. His hair was stringy and hanging simply around his pallid face, pale blue eyes staring out like a lake behind a veil. 

Øystein stared at him, his heart thundering in his chest. "Oh, Pelle." He mumbled, not sure what he was supposed to say or act. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

The last time Øystein had seen Per, it'd been in that bedroom, and there had been blood and pieces of shattered skull. It'd been a closed casket funeral, and it wasn't like Øystein had been invited, anyways. ' _Can you blame his family?'_ Øystein thought as his heart twisted. 

Per had been dead, but here he was alive - breathing, safe, if only for now. 

"Uhm, Jan went out to the store, I think." Øystein said, squeezing the bottle slightly and hearing it squeak noisily, although it relieved the tension in his body very slightly. "How are you?" He cringed, hating how awkward the whole situation was, but not knowing what else to do. 

Per stared, pursing his lips, his breaths shallow and heavy, as if he'd just run a marathon, but Øystein knew the truth. Per was so bloody emaciated that walking down the stairs and across the cabin was like a whole exercise in its own, and it was the eight wonder of the world that he hadn't collapsed already. 

Blinking, Øystein felt himself frown. "Are you alright, Pelle?" He asked. 

For a moment, Per only continued to stare, and then his face twisted, as if he was about to say something, before turning on the heel of his foot and walking out of the kitchen, the stairs creaking as Per walked up them. 

Øystein sighed, looking down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. ' _What the fuck am I even supposed to do?'_ He wondered, but nothing nor nobody answered him. 


	5. Chapter 5

Øystein didn't know how long he stood there, listening to his own breathing as he stared at the one spot where Per had been standing just a few minutes before, his eyes glaring out from his hair, but hen he heard the heavy rumble of an engine and the sound of doors slamming, and his attention was torn away from the encounter that seemed to have taken place just a few minutes ago, but according the clock, thirty minutes had gone by. 

With a groan, Øystein heard the door unlock and then it opened, revealing Jan, his dark hair covered in little white balls of snow and his arms laden with shopping bags, looking deeply confused as he turned his head and looked at Øystein, still standing in the kitchen like an idiot. They looked at each other, and then Jan tilted his head, looking oddly like a confused, curious puppy. 

"What are you doing?" Jan asked, his previous anger seemingly having disappeared in favor of perplexed confusion. He hitched the bags further up, shook his hair out of his face, and then walked into the kitchen. The snow was melting from his boots, and creating small puddles of water onto the floor. 

Unsure, Øystein didn't know how to answer. He shrugged. "I just got lost in thought, I guess." He muttered, not ready to explain himself or his situation to the drummer, who just looked back and nodded in vague understanding before turning back to the bags, which he placed on the dining table. 

Jan pulled out a loaf of bread. "You've been acting so fucking weird. I'm in a house full of fucking crazy people." He pulled out a bag of milk, paused, and then looked at Øystein with a curious look on his eyes. "Have you seen Pelle? Did he come down?" He asked. 

"Um, yeah." Øystein shifted uncomfortably, staring at Jan's wide, dark eyes. "He just kinda stared at me for a minute, and then went back upstairs." He debated on whether or not to continue. "What do you think is wrong with him?" Øystein asked.

"What so you think is _not_ wrong with him?" Jan smiled, but it didn't quite seem genuine. "I gave Jørn the gun, as you asked. He was very confused." He paused for a moment. "And so am I." Jan added, pulling out several cans of marinated fruits and vegetables. 

Øystein wanted to tell Jan, he really did, but he didn't want to be seen as a crazy person, too. He didn't want to be looked at like he'd went and lost his mind. "I just didn't want it in the same house as, well, Pelle." Øystein said, and it wasn't technically a lie. "He's already a danger to himself with his knives, no?" He finally forced himself to move toward the table. 

"Yes, I agree." Jan folded the paper bags and then walked toward the sink. He opened the cupboards below and tossed the bags in, and then he paused, and grunted in annoyance. "Fuck me. There's a leak!" He crouched down, shaking his head as he reached inside the cupboard. 

"What? Oh, great." Øystein decided to make himself useful and he walked over, digging around in a different cupboard for a Tupperware container. He found one and walked over to Jan, who took it with a quick nod of thanks. 

"This whole fucking place is falling apart." Jan muttered, his eyebrows furrowed, looking torn between anger and just pure exasperation. "Jørn was lucky to get out when he did." He added, and then he winced, giving Øystein a quick, apologetic look over his shoulder. 

Øystein pressed his lips together thinly. "How is he?" He asked, figuring that being an asshole would get him nowhere, especially in his present situation. 

Looking startled, Jan looked up from the leak, and he looked like he was about to ask a question, but then he shook his head, maybe at himself. "Well, he's going to be a new father soon, so he's very excited, as you can imagine." He said. 

"No. I don't like kids." Øystein replied. 

Jan smiled. "You sent a teddy bear to your sister, what, a week ago?" He said. 

"Fuck off." Øystein said it with no real heat, though, and he turned around and walked away without another word. 

The cabin was dark and there was a moody undercurrent in the air as Øystein walked up the stairs slowly, listening for any sign of life above, but he didn't hear nor see anybody as he finished climbing. There was very little light seeping in through the single window, covered by a thick curtain that Jørn had scavenged from his grandmother. 

Øystein had forgotten the little things, like the mouse hole near the baseboards and the chunk of wood that was missing from one of the rafters. He'd forgotten about the dry, musty smell, although that wasn't exactly something that he'd been missing in the last few years. 

One of the doors was opened, and Øystein felt his lips dip into a frown. He crept toward it, weary of the floorboards creaking underneath his weight as he looked inside. It was Per's room, he realized instantly, from the strong smell of rot and the almost unspoken whispers that seemed to cling to the walls. 

The bed was messy, and papers were scattered all over the room, filled with distorted creatures and wretched handwriting, sharp and jagged like the knives that Per seemed to have in unlimited stock. Øystein looked at the wall, once stained width blood, now clean. He looked at the place that he had once discovered Per's body in, and felt his heart twist. 

Downstairs, Jan said somethinhg in a high, irritated tone, and something slammed against the door, undeniably a fist. 

Clothes had been tossed all over the ground, and Øystein stumbled and nearly fell over a boot that'd been left underneath a shirt. It was a mess, one that Per usually didn't let accumulate because he, as chaotic and messy as he could be, didn't like for his room to be such a cluttered wreck. 

Øystein saw Per, and his first instinct was to turn tail and run like a coward. But he didn't, and, instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, frozen. His fists clenched, and his nails dug into the palms of his hands. 

With his legs dangling off of the baseboard, Per had his arms crossed and his eye closed, blond hair spread like a halo. He looked pretty and sweet, like a sleeping angel, and, goddamnit, Øystein shouldn't be thinking things like that, especially considering their present situation, and he knew that full and well, but he couldn't help himself. 

Every so often, back before this whole thing had happened, Øystein would dig out all of the photos that he'd accumulated through the years, and HR would spend hours, just staring at Per. 

Alive. Breathing. 

Per opened his eyes, and he twisted his head to stare at Øystein, who backed away, suddenly faced with the one person who could make him feel fear. 

It was fucking crazy, and Øystein loved every inch of the man on the bed, but hed thrown it all away, and now, he was the idiot for once in his life. 

Exhaling heavily, Per looked back up at the ceiling. "I know why you're here." 


End file.
